


i’m so heavy (heavy in your arms)

by apricae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Force Visions, Gen, Jedi Culture, Padawan Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricae/pseuds/apricae
Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn has a padawan with a deep connection to the Unifying Force — for good and ill.When Obi-Wan’s debilitating visions strike during a dinner outing, he learns some more of his relationship to the boy, and a friendship is strengthened.
Relationships: Dexter Jettster & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dexter Jettster & Qui-Gon Jinn, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 28
Kudos: 305





	i’m so heavy (heavy in your arms)

Coruscant, 41 BBY

  
  
  


When his padawan drops in a heap on Dex’s well-polished diner floor, Qui-Gon Jinn has to repress a pained sigh. The Force never claimed anything about good timing, but still… It could at least have the courtesy to let the poor boy make his introductions first. Qui-Gon’s long-time friend watches the stricken apprentice with widening eyes, his throat-pouch bulging in alarm as the other guests crane long necks and turn heads to see what’s causing all the commotion. 

Qui-Gon stands, ever the calm Jedi master, and gives Dex a slightly apologetic look. 

“He needs some air. Would you…?”

Dexter Jettster is a friend for good reasons, his great heart being chief among them (it and his considerable informant network, but the latter is hardly relevant at the moment). He only nods and gestures towards the staff exit leading to the back of the diner. 

Obi-Wan trembles on the floor, tension ratcheting along the lines of his small body. 

Qui-Gon scoops the boy into his arms and strides through the diner purposefully, not sparing the onlookers a sliver of his attention. Let them stare - It isn’t as though his apprentice will be any wiser. 

The shaking child in his arms knows nothing of the present. 

Dex lets him out into the back, a small empty courtyard, a sanctuary of permacrete and rust; Hardly the temple halls, suffused in the Force and its comforts, but Qui-Gon will make do as always. 

He eases himself down on the low stair, shifting Obi-Wan to hold the boy’s torso in his lap; With how he’s trembling, Qui-Gon isn’t about to take any chances and have him hit his head.

“Will he be all right?”

Raising his head, he realises that Dex has not left. The besalisk stands by the door, frowning, leaking concern in the Force. He makes himself smile gently, sighing as Obi-Wan curls into himself, spine arching.

“Yes. He will recover.”

“Whaddaya know… Lil’ one’s tougher than he seems, huh?”

“Indeed.”

Dex regards him with a frown, as if he’s puzzling something out. Then he bows his head.

“Can tell ya care for him frightfully much. Never really got them Jedi ways, me, but the way ya hold him… Look right much like his father, don’t ya?”

And that - It should not strike so at Qui-Gon’s heart. But it is not the Jedi way to lie to oneself, either, so he does not deny the tightness in his chest as he wipes the sweat from Obi-Wan’s clammy brow, nor the way he aches that he cannot help him more. 

“He is my padawan, Dex,” he murmurs, turning Obi-Wan’s head sideways when the boy chokes and gasps. 

“Ya love him. Simple as that,” says Dex, crossing two of his arms at his front. 

“Yes,” says Qui-Gon, as easy as breathing, because it’s true, “I do.”

Obi-Wan groans and shivers, the tense lines of his body slackening at last. His student slumps in his arms, and Qui-Gon hauls him up higher, leaning him back against his chest, a gentle hand curling around a thin wrist to feel for the boy’s rapid pulse.

“Customers callin’,” says Dex, even if neither of them has heard a sound. “Be back in a bit. I’ll… Bring him some juice.”

Qui-Gon’s smile is real this time as he nods and watches his friend leave; he’s giving them space, letting Obi-Wan have some much needed privacy as he shudders and pitches forward, retching weakly. Qui-Gon rubs between his shoulder blades, waiting for the nausea to pass. 

Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force is sharp as a knife, spiking with terror and shame and pain all mixed together. 

“It’s- I-” He sobs, still gasping for air. 

“Shh. You don’t have to say anything,” Qui-Gon says softly, pulling him back into his hold and tightening his embrace. 

He knows Obi-Wan would protest if he had the energy. It stings, knowing that his young apprentice is so desperate for perfection, so unwilling to allow himself even a moment’s weakness; To let himself be held is unimaginable most of the time. 

Not now. 

Obi-Wan only cries, voice cracking and breaking down on an anguished wail that dies in his throat. Qui-Gon holds him, rocks him like a youngling, side to side and gently, tucking him against his shoulder. Obi-Wan clings, and cries, and shakes. 

And as always, Qui-Gon wishes futilely that he had the power to make it better. 

“Padawan, I’m here,” he soothes, rubbing Obi-Wan’s trembling back. “You’re safe, I’m with you. I’m with you, Obi-Wan, my padawan, you’re safe now.”

If his words have any effect he can’t tell, but bit by bit those desperate hitching sobs slow, and steadily he pulls his apprentice out of horror and despair. Bit by bit. Minute by minute passes, the two of them alone in the cool slightly smoky Coruscant wind. 

Obi-Wan’s pulse slows, and he goes limp once more, his breath still quick and warm on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. He inhales deeply, coaxing Obi-Wan along, nudging at him in the Force. 

_ Slowly, padawan _ .

Qui-Gon feels clammy sweat cooling on Obi-Wan’s skin beneath his tunic, sticking between his shoulder blades, running down his back. Feels the ache of sore and strained muscles, the pain beneath ribs and spiking through the skull. 

“Tell me, padawan,” he says quietly, and it isn’t a question. He knows that either they talk, or Obi-Wan locks whatever he saw deep down within himself. Either they talk, or he buries it all and lets it grow into thorns.

In a choked half-whisper, Obi-Wan tells him. 

_ A desert. The sun so hot it burned even through his clothes. An enormous skeleton of some ancient creature, half-buried in the sand.  _

_ Yellow eyes that followed him in the darkness, burning even hotter than the sun had. The darkness was the Temple halls, empty except for smoke and an echo of terror.  _

_ Everything too hot, like a sun; Inside him, outside him, the world burning away until nothing remained but a terrible, hollow loneliness.  _

Qui-Gon listens and holds him. It is all he can do, all he can offer. To listen and to hold. 

Dex comes back outside carrying a tray. Juice, like he promised, and some kind of fried doughy food. He smiles at Obi-Wan like everything is normal, and Qui-Gon feels another well of gratitude for this being who has never met Obi-Wan before and yet manages to see him for who he is.

Obi-Wan sits up on his own and eats a little, taking tiny sips of the juice, and slowly the colour returns to his face, hands no longer shaking. Eyes no longer so haunted. He remembers his manners and thanks Dex, giving him a small smile which Dex returns tenfold. He even laughs when Qui-Gon and Dex share stories from when they met, back when Qui-Gon was a carefree knight getting into trouble on a mining freighter.

“I see why ya like him so much,” Dex guffaws when Obi-Wan snidely comments on the story. “He’ll make a grand Jedi.”

“Yes,” says Qui-Gon, easy as breathing, because it’s true. “He will.”


End file.
